I’m tired I told myself
In which sense, I wonder
Physically?
Mentally?
God forbid, emotionally?

A man is not very tired
He is exhausted, very is a lazy term
A man is tired from dreaming
But a man is never tired of dreaming

It takes a lifetime to tire
And no time at all
“So what do you want?” I ponder
“A moment of peace and quiet” I snapped

“From what” the brain argues<br>
“From this mess which is life” the heart explains

To dream a dream
That is hard to forget
In the mist of clouds
It disappears like a sunset
Ebbing away with clarity
Reverting in my desperate mind
Like it’s a mere charity

Oh the beautiful dreams aren’t true
Knowing them is better than having no clue
The subconscience is an inconspicuous beauty
Like the roots of the tree
Entangled and buried beneath
Its beauty is hidden
Its thoughts forgotten

To dream a dream
Is finding your love
Then losing it soon
It’s the inward eye’s beauty
So beautiful, so resplendent, 
When you wake up, you soon swoon

Moon dust in your lungs
Stars in your eyes
You are a child of the cosmos
A ruler of the skies

Nebulas and constellations, created
With the sparks between us
If your eyes can't catch the vastness
Look up to the sky and ponder

As infinite as it is
My love will always
Be more.

Stars, there are none
To shine the heckled heart
I stand as if paralyzed
But I will remain, steadfast for
I am oneself
Your life groove is not for me

Reach out to your mind and thoughts
Clear difference there is between us
Two hearts unlikely to be one
Am I, to you, a figurine
For you to keep toying with?

A toy strung by you, no
I'm human with heart and emotions
Have you ever wondered?
For which, enough of it all

My wall has been broken
Patience no longer existing
Entertaining your games, darling

Elastic heart strings
You and me
We are no longer adjoined
Let us go, differing directions

This is the end
No more love
Only the stars

Have you ever felt
So morose that your chest aches
Numbness all over your soul
A big hole, where there should be
The heart

Emptiness, the sickening feeling
You feel so
You don’t seem to matter
You are nothing to anyone
Nothing

Your Life means nothing
Your existence means nothing
You are invisible
Why bother

All you want to do is to lie in bed
Perhaps, sleep for a while
Better, sleep for a very long time
Possibly, and, never wake up

Do you feel like that?
Cause it’s how I always feel.

Dare I write a poem, claiming God doesn’t exist?
I admit sometimes that faith is missed. 
Sometimes I lie awake, ponder the past,
Wonder why my belief didn’t last.

Then I remember what I was forced to see,
The memories of abuse that still bleed.
I remember my polluted childhood,
How it bore very little good.

I think of cancer in children, and natural disasters,
Supposedly the plans of a loving master.
I think of ****, ******, and child abuse,
Suicidal kids hanging from nooses.

Science motivates my disbelief to a certain extent,
But other than that, I refuse to be content.
I can’t follow a “loving creator” who fails to care,
A “loving creator” who is never there.

Sunday.
Hellenistic Astrology, first day of the week
Golden clasp that binds the volume of the week

These days.
The day I planned a lot but actually do nothing
Happiness is now a hot bath on a Sunday afternoon

For you, my dear.
“Oh dear sunday, let her sleep in your arms!
May she awaken to a newly found bright and beautiful smile”